August Ansel - Shadow Road

He’d positioned himself up a small rise in the V of a downed alder. From that vantage point only the top of his head was visible. He could watch their camp from one direction, keep an eye on the likely points of ingress from the other, and lean into the notch for comfort. Not too much comfort—he couldn’t risk falling asleep, not now, not when they were on the verge of finishing what he’d begun thinking of as Russell’s road trip of vengeance.

Overhead, a great horned owl made its plaintive, stuttering inquiry. Garrett leaned his head back and looked into the surrounding trees, relaxing his focus and letting peripheral vision take over. He sat that way for several seconds, and when the owl called again he saw its head move from the corner of his eye. An answering call came from nearby, lower-pitched and ghostly. It was mating season.

While Garrett idled, hoping the owls would call again, the walkie in his pocket made a little mechanical blurt. He sat straight and closed his hand around it, heart thumping a quick paradiddle in his throat. The owl over his head vacated with a single tenebrous flap of its enormous wings.

Doyle had the other handset, but Garrett didn’t think he’d heard a voice. If he called Doyle by mistake and woke everybody, Doyle would rip him a new one. He listened for something more, but nothing happened. The goosepen was dark and silent. Not a twitch. Not a peep. Finally, he hunched over the unit and pressed the call button, two short clicks.

He waited, eyes on the shelter. Silence. Then, another faint blurt of sound. Static crackle, and something else. A little hum. Shit, maybe some defunct satellite still circling the planet, broadcasting bits of useless information to a world that no longer cared. Whatever it was, the blip was too short and tinny to be Doyle trying to raise him.

Still… what if? Once more, Garrett did a simple double click of the handset. Waited.

Nothing. The moment spun out, first a minute, then five, counted in his head. Then a long span of quiet without even the owl for company.

Up before first light. Other than weapons, their gear was tossed into the goosepen, stowed to pick up when it was over. There was no trouble waking anyone today. They were wired, ready for it.

Gilch took the lead, out of the gulch, up the slight grade single-file. It was slow going in the near-blackness, but in a few minutes the ground leveled out underfoot. Russell stopped and Doyle motioned them to huddle up. Their faces were still nothing but pale smears in the dark.

“Through there,” Gilch whispered, pointing to the tree line straight ahead. Behind them, the sky had lightened from charcoal to deep navy. “Doesn’t look like it from here, but it’s only a hundred feet and you’re in the yard.”

Doyle turned to Russell. “How do you want to run this?”

“You say the cabin’s butted up to the ridge,” said Russell.

“Right,” said Gilch. “It’d be their worst option.”

“One man behind, then, in case they try it. Garrett,” he said. “That’s you. I’ll give you time to get back up in there before we move. The rest of us will approach from the front. Doyle, you and I will take cover outside to bring down strays. Gilch, you and Alex will rush the cabin.” A silent ripple of energy seemed to pass through them. “We’re not going to give them time to grab weapons,” he said. “Gilch, if they have someone on watch inside, take them out straight away. I don’t care who it is, you’re setting terms here. Hundred percent.”

“Understood,” said Gilch.

“You,” he said to Alex, “have speed on your side. The element of surprise. Grab one of the women, if you can, and wake up the rest with a hostage already in hand. Gilch, go for the biggest threat. If that’s the dog, maim—don’t kill. If it’s a person, dealer’s choice.

“When it starts, it’s going to be fast and it’s going to be chaos. We’re gonna ride the chaos. Once you’re inside,” he told Gilch, “you yell for backup if you need it. Doyle and I will be right there, right outside.”

“Maybe three of us should go in,” said Alex. “Take them quicker. Less risky.”

“No,” said Gilch. “This place isn’t that big. We don’t know how many they are. Last thing we need is to swing for one of them and take out one of us.”

Russell held up one of the two walkies. “Doyle,” he said, “give Garrett the other one.” Doyle did. “You stay on the hill above the house until I tell you otherwise,” Russell told Garrett. “If we need you, we’ll holler. Otherwise, be on guard for whatever shows up—whether it’s somebody heading for the hills, or someone coming in from lookout.”

The slowly lightening sky made the men’s faces easier to read, and he was glad to see them wide-awake and on board, fully amped. “Okay,” he said. “They’ve got their dicks in their hands. Let’s do it.”

They crept to the top of the rise, heads low, in a half-crouch. The cabin sat in a deep pool of shadow, looking sound asleep. Russell nodded at Garrett. He gave a thumbs-up and took off, circling north around the perimeter and disappearing into the trees. A small outbuilding—likely the privy—stood between the cabin and the tree line. Russell gestured, and Doyle ran to it. Crouched in the dark lee of the structure, he was nearly invisible. He peered around the corner at the front door of the cabin, then motioned to Gilch and Alex. They hurried to his position.

Russell hung back at the rim of the clearing. He gripped the walkie-talkie in his scarred hand. His good hand rested on the machete in his belt. He was flying on adrenaline, but it was a good high, a sense of elation that he’d brought them full circle. All they needed now was Garrett’s signal.

Click. The sound was enormous in the dark, silent dawn.

Then Garrett’s single word: “ Set .”

They all heard it. Gilch and Alex ran for the cabin, soundless as two shadows. Alex had his beloved knife out and Gilch gripped a short cudgel. On the porch, they crept to the door, pausing to listen for the briefest moment. Then they went for it.

The clearing seemed immediately to brighten. Russell could see and hear everything at once: Doyle poised on the balls of his feet, knife in hand, his whole body tensed and ready to move; the legs of a chair just visible beyond the open cabin door; a startled raven leaning out on the branch of a nearby tree to voice her saw-blade caw!caw!caw! The sound of boot heels thundering over the cabin’s floorboards.

“Oh fuck, no!” It was Alex, his voice a guttural howl. There was another confusion of footfall, and then Gilch, yelling. “Get out, now. Move!”

Doyle was already running to the door, and Russell sprinted to join him, both of them with weapons in hand.

Suddenly, Alex came blundering out through the door, his face a mask of distress. Gilch followed, looking none too steady himself. “Fuck,” Alex moaned again. He fell to one knee and vomited. The smell of corrupt flesh was hitting them.

“ What? ” Doyle roared.

Gilch shook his head side-to-side, and made a definitive, throat-cutting motion— done. “They’re dead,” he said. He twisted his head to one side and spat. “All of them.”

Russell pushed past Gilch and into the cabin. Doyle tried to catch his arm, but Russell shook him off.

There was nothing in the front room, but the odor of death coming from elsewhere in the cabin pushed at him like an invisible hand. In a bedroom to his right were two adults with small children between them. Russell pressed his scarf tight to his nose and stared at the ruined faces, trying to see through the wreckage of decay and depredation. The man had been largely clean-shaven, hair short and iron gray. The woman’s hair, fanned out over the pillow, was pale and coppery. She seemed somewhere in her middle years. The kids—a boy and a girl, covered to the chin by a blanket—had obviously been very young .